


A Piece of the Whole

by NovaTheBomb



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: DMCcret Santa 19, Fluff, Gender-neutral Reader, Happy Ending, Minor Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 16:36:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21930463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NovaTheBomb/pseuds/NovaTheBomb
Summary: A few snapshots of your time with the man known as V
Relationships: V (Devil May Cry)/Reader, Vergil (Devil May Cry)/Reader
Comments: 9
Kudos: 80
Collections: Syncret Santa 2019





	A Piece of the Whole

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Keeroo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keeroo/gifts).



V didn’t talk about him often, and you didn’t ask.

But there were some moments, the so-called ‘witching hour’, where the tendrils of time and space seemed to collide into a singular plain and those soft lips would part ever-so-slightly for you, only you.

There was never a warning. Just a sudden stillness, fingers pausing in their task of combing gently through your hair as you rested against his shoulder. A slight inhale proceeding the words, a pause…

You waited. He would proceed in his own time.

“Your hair,” he said. “It reminds me…”

* * *

V never spoke his name, and you didn’t ask.

But even hidden behind layers and layers, tales of light and darkness, poems and prose, when you looked into his eyes you could perceive the truth that he did not want to speak into existence.

“ _From childhood’s hour I have not been_

_As others were—I have not seen_

_As others saw—I could not bring_

_My passions from a common spring—_ “

You paused in your actions at the sound of his voice, low and even as if he were reciting from a book, though you knew his eyes were only on you.

“Poe,” you guessed - correctly, if you were to go by the light hum that rumbled the warm lips pressing against the bare skin of your neck. Long arms followed shortly after, pulling you close to his chest.

“Dinner is going to burn,” you warned, though the smile on your lips diluted the threat.

“Then let it,” he whispered against the skin he worshipped with lips and tongue and teeth.

You at least had the presence of mind to turn off the stove. Dinner could wait.

* * *

V never spoke about his family, and you didn’t ask.

There were moments, however, when you could see the ghosts of the past in the way he smiled (hesitant, unsure, unsteady), the way he held his book (familiar, possessive), the way his eyes lingered on you when he thought you weren’t looking (hesitant, warm, possessive).

He let it slip, once or twice in casual conversation (as casual as a calculating man can be) that he had a brother.

No name, only mentions of a contentious relationship fraught with conflict and anger.

You wondered why such a rift had been torn between them, whether their parents had wished for so much more…

* * *

V never said it aloud, but you knew one day he wouldn’t come back.

* * *

There were plenty of things that you never said, as well.

The way his voice made something inside you flutter, the heat that pricked at your skin with every brush of his lips, the softness of his gaze that melted your heart...

The way you knew you would miss him.

A thousand feelings, a thousand regrets, and a thousand words never spoken. The days after he left seemed to drag on - more thousands upon thousands, seconds, minutes, hours.

He’d walked out of your life just as suddenly as he’d entered it, captured your heart and then stolen away with it.

The pain became familiar. The pain became _expected_. It was a part of you, just as the tears, the sorrow, the emptiness was a part of you.

But the tears soon faded, as did the sorrow, until only the pain and emptiness remained. Was this all that your life would be, from now on? Just living like an empty husk, insides scooped out and hollow like a Halloween Jack-o-Lantern?

* * *

You never expected the knock on the door, nor the once-familiar fluttering of your heart that accompanied the cadence.

Strange. You weren’t expecting company, nor had you ordered anything for delivery that you could remember.

Another knock, this one softer - almost hesitant - but firm enough to convince you that yes, there was a person at your door, and it wasn’t just your mind playing its tricks.

You stood, placing your book to the side and drawing your sweater closer around yourself - the nights were getting longer now, and colder, as it dipped towards the beginnings of winter.

A burst of frigid air assaulted you as you opened the door, tussling your hair and causing you to shiver. You opened your mouth to greet the man in black who stood before you, but something about him caused your throat to tighten and you swallowed back the silence.

Clearing his own throat, as if to rid it of a similar obstruction, the man opened his mouth to speak one word.

Your name.

* * *

V never told you how much he loved you.

But he didn’t need to.

The hope that gleamed ever-so-faintly in steel grey eyes, the purse of his lips as he tasted your name on them, the anxious tapping of a single finger against a well-worn book’s cover. All of these little quirks that you’d come to know and adore… they spoke loudly in their own special language.

You could only smile at the white-haired man, one hand reaching to hold his as it had done so many times before.

“Welcome home.”

Finally, _finally,_ the pain was gone.


End file.
